Ностромо

           Mrs.Gouldsmiledagood-byeatBarrios,noddedroundtotheEuropeans(whoraisedtheirhatssimultaneously)withanengaginginvitation,“Ihopetoseeyouallpresently,athome”;thensaidnervouslytoDecoud,“Getin,DonMartin,”andheardhimmuttertohimselfinFrench,asheopenedthecarriagedoor,“Lesortenestjete.”Sheheardhimwithasortofexasperation.Nobodyoughttohaveknownbetterthanhimselfthatthefirstcastofdicehadbeenalreadythrownlongagoinamostdesperategame.Distantacclamations,wordsofcommandyelledout,andarollofdrumsonthejettygreetedthedepartinggeneral.Somethinglikeaslightfaintnesscameoverher,andshelookedblanklyatAntonia’sstillface,wonderingwhatwouldhappentoCharleyifthatabsurdmanfailed.“Alacasa,Ignacio,”shecriedatthemotionlessbroadbackofthecoachman,whogatheredthereinswithouthaste,mumblingtohimselfunderhisbreath,“Si,lacasa.Si,sinina.”

           Thecarriagerollednoiselesslyonthesofttrack,theshadowsfelllongonthedustylittleplaininterspersedwithdarkbushes,moundsofturned-upearth,lowwoodenbuildingswithironroofsoftheRailwayCompany;thesparserowoftelegraphpolesstrodeobliquelyclearofthetown,bearingasingle,almostinvisiblewirefarintothegreatcampo—likeaslender,vibratingfeelerofthatprogresswaitingoutsideforamomentofpeacetoenterandtwineitselfaboutthewearyheartoftheland.